


On Broken Wings (Hope Flies)

by fancyh



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-18 13:05:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15486402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fancyh/pseuds/fancyh
Summary: It's a cloudless summer day when Arthur finds him; a filthy and starving young man trapped at the bottom of a well with a young dragon, kept imprisoned by the Sarrum for over two years. He brings the man back to Camelot, intent on giving him a chance at a new life. What he doesn't count on is the friendship they strike up, or how the man-Merlin-changes everything, including his heart.





	1. Prologue

Merlin sits huddled in the darkness, cold seeping into his bones from the rough stone at his back and limbs cramping, the cold iron of the manacles cutting into his wrists though he has long since stopped feeling the pain. Aithusa grumbles, the heat of her body pressing into Merlin's legs as she shifts, trying to find a more comfortable position in the cramped well.

She won't, Merlin knows. It will only get worse as she grows, her form already starting to twist and cripple from the stone walls too small to hold a dragon of her size. He runs a soothing hand over her side, chains clinking and pulling taut from where the ends are lodged in the wall, allowing Merlin only a small range of motion. 

"It's all right," Merlin whispers, voice no more than a rasp.

Aithusa makes a warbling noise but doesn't respond, and Merlin's heart sinks. He's tried to teach her to speak, as is his duty as a dragonlord, but the Sarrum's men have punished them every time they hear them talking and Aithusa has grown quieter and quieter as the months have passed, eventually falling completely silent. Sometimes he wonders if she'll ever talk again. 

It's been years, he thinks, since they were captured. Since the Sarrum's men had slaughtered Merlin's family-his mother, his father, both dead-and captured Merlin alongside newly-hatched Aithusa, too small and weak to defend herself. Merlin could likely have killed them all, his magic more powerful than most, but they'd threatened Aithusa and he'd had no choice but to surrender. The iron collar and manacles they had put on him had hurt, as if his very soul were being rent apart, his magic retreating back where he couldn't find it. He'd felt empty, more dead than alive without the familiar warmth of his magic. Now, he can barely remember what it felt like to have magic. 

He and Aithusa had been imprisoned in this well, deep underground where no light reaches, a heavy stone placed over the top. Merlin learned to yearn for the rare moments when he'd be dragged up for torture or for the Sarrum's amusement, to laugh at the powerless sorcerer, if only because he got to see the sunlight, to breathe in fresh air and hear real voices in his ears. 

The darkness is the worst. Not being able to tell night from day, the only indication of time passing the small chink of light when the stone on top is moved for food and water to be lowered down. Or maybe it is the silence, the complete and utter stillness broken only by his own harsh breathing and Aithusa's cries. It's enough to drive one mad. Maybe Merlin has gone mad, he doesn't know. He thinks madness would be a blessing, perhaps. 

Aithusa rumbles again, a pained sound escaping as she shifts under his hand. Merlin strokes the dull scales, humming softly under his breath. It's an old song, one his mother used to sing, and the thought makes something tighten in his chest but he continues, tracing patterns on Aithusa's side. He hasn't thought about his parents in a long time. It had been his father, Balinor, who had called Aithusa from the egg, after finding the egg in the tomb of Ashkanar. The last dragon, he'd said. The other was still imprisoned under Camelot, kept there by the magic-hating King, Uther Pendragon. Uther was the one who had hunted Merlin's father during the Great Purge, forcing him to flee Camelot and then Ealdor. Balinor had taken Merlin's mother, Hunith, with him when he fled, and nine months later Merlin had been born in the secluded cave where they hid, safe from prying eyes. 

It had been Balinor who taught Merlin everything he knew about both magic and being a dragonlord, including that his magic is special. He doesn't just have magic, he _is_ magic. Even without it he still is, he supposes; the spelled iron etched with runes has forced all his magic down, only allowing him enough to survive.

He had known the day would come when Balinor would die and the dragonlord gift would pass to Merlin, but he never thought it would be so soon. Now, he is the last dragonlord, not that it means anything anymore. Merlin will die here, he knows, with the last of the dragons by his side. 

He hums until he hears Aithusa's breathing settle into sleep, his own head drooping with the permanent exhaustion borne from starvation and imprisonment. He curls his legs under him as best he can and rests his head on one manacled arm, falling asleep in moments. 

He's woken some time later by the sound of the stone moving, a chink of sunlight appearing and making him squint. Multiple voices echo and Merlin raises his head, wondering what's going on. There's the sound of grunting and then the entire stone scrapes and moves, sunlight filtering down into the well and haloing an unfamiliar figure above. Merlin stares up and the figure seems to stare back, time stopping for an instant as the sun glints off chain mail and turns blonde hair golden, an inexplicable tug in Merlin's chest.

The moment passes and the figure turns, speaking to someone. "Get a rope!"

He's being rescued. Merlin feels dizzy, hope and fear battling within him.  _He's being rescued._

A rope is thrown over, and the figure begins to descend.


	2. Chapter 1: Arthur

When Arthur and his men had attacked the Sarrum, none of them had known what to expect. The Sarrum was a vicious and cruel man, they knew, but just what he was doing was a mystery. It was only because of his attempted assassination of Arthur the week previous that had led them to seek out his stronghold and take it, expanding the reach of Camelot's power. One day, Arthur hopes to unite all the lands under one rule, though the dream seems far off for now. 

What they'd found at the Sarrum's keep had been nothing short of horrifying. He'd known the Sarrum's hatred for magic, much like his father, but he didn't think it extended so far as to imprison and torture sorcerers. Arthur has long since changed his views on magic, helped by his half-sister Morgana who has saved his life countless times using magic. She had confided in him years ago, begging him not to tell Uther, and he'd promised that she would never have to live in fear again. As soon as Uther died Arthur had reversed the ban on magic, and slowly sorcerers had begun to trickle back into the kingdom, at first wary but gradually accepting that Arthur was genuine. Arthur had released the Great Dragon, making him swear not to hurt a single soul the rest of his life, and the Great Dragon in turn had helped him through many of Camelot's trials. It was the dragon who had warned him of the Sarrum's ill intentions, and told him to go to the Sarrum's keep. He'd been cryptic, not saying what they would find, ranting endlessly about destiny in strange riddles that Arthur couldn't even begin to follow. But Arthur had heeded his advice and gone, not sure what to expect.

He'd found dozens of sorcerers and even non-magical folk imprisoned, bearing the marks of torture and mistreatment. Anyone who defied the Sarrum was to be made an example of, apparently, as demonstrated by the heads on pikes that line the gates. He and his men had freed all the prisoners and sent them back with a contingent of knights, about to set off after them when someone had told them that there was one more prisoner, a special one. They'd found the secluded well, pushing away the stone to reveal the pit below. The sight that greeted them was astounding to say the least. A figure, huddled against the stone wall, and curled around him a young dragon. 

Arthur descends the rope slowly, armor clanking as he braces his feet against the rough stone wall. He stops halfway down, glancing at the dragon who regards him with a suspicious eye, face sunken and white hide gleaming dully in the dim light.

Arthur clears his throat. "Um, dragon, I'm here to help. Please don't eat me." He hopes this dragon is as intelligent as Kilgharrah, or he may very well be climbing down to his death.

A voice answers, but it doesn't come from the dragon.

"She won't hurt you." The voice is hoarse, as if the man is not used to talking. 

Arthur nods and continues his descent, eventually dropping to the ground in the small space between the man and the dragon. The stench is almost overwhelming, and little light reaches down here, the man's face in shadow. Arthur catches a glimpse of piercing blue eyes hidden behind long, matted hair and a thick beard, a strange metal collar engraved with runes sitting around the man's throat. 

"My name is Arthur," Arthur says. "I'm here to help."

The man simply eyes him suspiciously and Arthur shifts, feeling uncomfortable under the weighted stare. He can feel the dragon behind him, its heat burning into his leg and a matching stare boring into his back. He withdraws the stolen key from his pocket, crouching to grab the man's wrists. The man flinches away before extending his wrists, letting Arthur undo them. The manacles fall away with a clink of metal and the man stares at his wrists as if he's never seen them before, turning them slightly. Arthur can just make out the ragged scars wrapping around them and wonders how long the man has been here. The collar does not appear to be attached to anything so Arthur leaves it for now, rising to his feet and extending a hand. 

After a moment's pause the man takes it, his hand cold and chapped but his grip surprisingly strong. 

"Can you climb?" Arthur asks.

The man scowls and moves towards the rope, but even one step has him swaying and leaning on the wall for balance. It's no surprise he's weak, if he's been left down here a while. Arthur sighs and grabs him, bodily throwing him over his shoulder. There's an indignant squawk from the man and the dragon rumbles warningly.

"Oh shut up, I'm trying to help," Arthur grumbles, securing his cargo before beginning to climb. The man is light, barely anything to him, and his bones dig into Arthur's shoulder painfully. Arthur climbs up carefully, the man seeming to accept the indignity and holding on to Arthur as they ascend. When they reach the top Arthur sets him down, seeing the man squint painfully in the light. He's wearing nothing more than filthy rags, feet bare and bones jutting out garishly, the slivers of visible skin pale and streaked with dirt. He sways on his feet and Arthur reaches out a hand, steadying him. His shoulder is frail under his hand, nothing more than skin stretched over bones, and he scowls at the contact, blue eyes peering out from slitted lids to glare at Arthur balefully.

Leon comes over, offering a cape that Arthur takes, attempting to wrap around the man's shoulders. 

"Come on, let's sit you down."

The man scowls harder and moves away. "I'm not leaving without Aithusa," he rasps.

Arthur supposes that must be the dragon and tries to put a soothing expression on his face. Gods, he's terrible at this. "Don't worry, we'll get the dragon," he tries. "She won't hurt anyone, will she?"

The man scrutinizes him for second. "No," he finally says. "But you'll need me." He takes a stumbling step towards the edge of the pit, peering over. The dragon looks up, emitting a small chirp as the knights cluster around the edge with ropes. 

"Can she get out on her own?" Arthur questions. 

The man shakes his head. "I don't think so."

Arthur turns back to the pit, sighing. "Great."

* * *

 In the end, Arthur has to go down into the pit again and tie ropes around the dragon for the knights to haul her up, the dragon anxious but quickly settling with a few words from the man. When they've finally heaved her over the edge the man goes to her, stroking her scales in a familiar way and speaking too softly for Arthur to hear. It's obvious they share a bond, and it makes Arthur curious as to how both of them ended up in that well together, and why the man was separated from the rest. There must be something special about him. 

Arthur approaches the man cautiously, keeping his movements slow.

"My men are setting up camp. There's food and water, if you want."

The man nods silently and follows Arthur, the dragon limping at his heels. Arthur can tell that the man is barely staying upright, but senses that he's too proud to ask for help. He manages to get him to sit down by the fire and hands him a bowl of stew and a cup of water, whispering to his knights to get something substantial for the dragon. The man immediately begins to eat ravenously, downing the stew before Arthur has even taken a bite of his own and drinking the entire cup of water, some spilling down his chin and making tracks in the grimy skin of his neck. Arthur tries not to stare as he eats his own stew slowly, the rest of the knights staying a healthy distance away from the dragon.

"I never asked your name," he finally says.

The man pauses, eyes flicking up to Arthur's face. He hesitates a moment before answering, voice soft but clearer than before. "Merlin. My name is Merlin."

Arthur nods. "Arthur Pendragon."

Merlin stiffens, eyes flashing with fear. "Pendragon?"

Arthur feels his heart squeeze the way it does whenever he sees the damage his father had wrought, how many people still fear his name. "What do you know of Camelot?" he asks, trying to get a sense of how long Merlin's been imprisoned.

Merlin's gaze turns wary. "Why?"

Arthur sighs. Direct it is. "Magic is no longer banned in Camelot."

Merlin scrutinizes him, as if searching for a lie. "What changed? I thought Uther hated magic." The way he says his name is bitter, and Arthur swallows down a flinch.

"He did. My father has been dead for two years now. As soon as I became king, I changed the laws."

Merlin blinks, looking surprised. "Why would you do that?"

"Because I knew that my father was wrong." He lets that statement hang in the air between them, not wanting to elaborate.

Merlin eventually nods, looking down at his hands. "I'm glad." 

Arthur hesitates, not wanting to pry. "You are a sorcerer, right?"

"Yes."

Arthur gestures to the collar around Merlin's neck, which he figures must be what prevents him from using magic. So far he's only seen sorcerers manacled with cold iron, easily removed, and he wonders at the extra provision. "Do you...can I...?"

Merlin fingers the collar, a dark look on his face as he shakes his head. "It's spelled in place. It can only be removed by magic."

"When we get to Camelot, I can have it removed."

Merlin looks up, eyebrow raised. "When?"

"Well, you are coming to Camelot...aren't you?" For some reason, Arthur doesn't want him to leave. He's intriguing, with his piercing eyes and snow-white dragon, a special prisoner of the Sarrum. He's a mystery, and Arthur wants to unravel him. It.

"Well, I suppose I don't have a choice, do I?"

Arthur smiles smugly. "Afraid not. You're stuck with me."

Merlin looks heavenward. "Gods help me."

Arthur laughs, and after a moment Merlin laughs too, looking surprised. Arthur wonders how long it's been since he laughed, and wonders at how his face crinkles and his mouth parts to reveal surprisingly white teeth, something alluring in the way his throat works with the motion. He vows to elicit that smile as often as possible, and to discover what lies beneath the layers of grime and matted hair. 

* * *

Arthur adds another log to the fire, rubbing his arms to dispel the chill of the night air. Stars twinkle through the canopy of trees, the forest still and silent but for the crackling of the fire and the occasional soft snore from one of the men. Arthur looks over to see Merlin curled up next to Aithusa, firelight playing over the planes of his face and illuminating the hollows of his cheeks. He's dressed in some of the knights' spare clothes after having cleaned up slightly in a nearby stream, and both he and the dragon had eaten as much as Arthur dared give them in their malnourished state before falling asleep almost instantly. 

Arthur doesn't know why, but he feels drawn to Merlin. There's just...something about him, but he can't put his finger on it. He only hopes that over time, he'll find out exactly who Merlin is, and why he feels like destiny.

With that thought Arthur settles into his bedroll again, falling asleep to the soft rumbling of Aithusa.

* * *

In the morning they break fast and then pack up the camp, deciding how to transport their charges. Eventually, a cart is rigged up for Aithusa and Merlin to ride in, and they make the slow journey back towards Camelot. Merlin is quiet, staying close to Aithusa and rarely speaking except when necessary. Arthur feels a rush of gratitude for his knights when he sees the kindness wth which they treat him and Aithusa despite their wariness of the dragon. Lancelot, in fact, seems awed of Aithusa, and Gwaine shows a certain enthusiasm which seems to amuse Merlin.

They stop at midday to eat and rest, Merlin again downing the food rapidly. Arthur sits across from him, watching as Aithusa tears into a piece of meat.

"Did you know her...before?" Arthur asks.

Merlin looks up and then nods slightly. Arthur feels his curiosity grow.

"How?"

Merlin is silent for a moment, as if weighing his response. Finally he says, "My father hatched her."

"Hatch-you mean your father is a dragonlord?"

Merlin's jaw clenches. "Was."

There's a moment of silence. "I'm sorry," Arthur says.

Merlin doesn't respond, eye flicking away from Arthur's face. The pieces click into place in Arthur's mind, and he suddenly wonders if Kilgharrah had known all along. Because Balinor was the last dragonlord, according to him, and if Merlin's father was a dragonlord....

That makes him Balinor's son, and now the last dragonlord.

"Your father," Arthur starts. "Was his name Balinor?"

Merlin stiffens, eyes narrowing in suspicion and confirming Arthur's theory.

"I only ask because the Great Dragon told me that he was the last dragonlord," Arthur rushes to reassure. "So I assumed..."

Merlin's voice is still tight with fear and suspicion. "You've spoken to Kilgharrah?"

"Yes, and I freed him. He'll want to meet you, I'm sure. Listen-" Arthur leans forward, wanting Merlin to see the truth in his eyes. "I swear that no harm will come to you in Camelot. Or to Aithusa."

Merlin studies him for a moment and then nods, expression smoothing infinitesimally. "Thank you," he says. He pauses. "You're a better man than your father."

Arthur swallows, feeling again the burden of his father's sins. "I hope so," he responds. 

And Merlin's lips curl up in a small smile, blue eyes staring straight into Arthur's soul. 

 


End file.
